


Letting Go

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder reflects on how and why his feelings towards Sylar changed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go

_“We’re done lying for a living   
The strange days are coming”_   
**-Matthew Good Band, **_**Strange Days**_

Three little words.

Despite their deceptive innocence they actually changed everything. Upon reflection Mohinder knew with certainty they were not there from the beginning, they couldn’t have been. _Their_ beginning, for all intents and purposes, had been something else all together.

He had hated Sylar for so long and regarded him as an enemy with such a visceral intensity that any alternative was simply an additional complication not to be entertained. Then again maybe it was that definitively lived existence that made their change inevitable. After all, hatred was a powerful drug that consumed and exhausted. Although it could go on without an end in sight, the shelf life for its host was neither healthy nor timeless. Still, Mohinder found safe haven in its defensive walls for as long as possible.

Despising Sylar was easy enough. His horrific actions and utter disregard for others was a calling card to mutual disaffection. He was to be found at the nucleus of what had turned Mohinder’s life inside out and set it spinning down a previously unheard of path. Mohinder’s life was painted crimson red in broad yet precise strokes beneath the charcoal black of a murderous glint. That was motive enough for both of them to stay fixed in assigned roles—_acquired roles_—never wavering.

No. Not never. But Mohinder gave himself little free time to contemplate those flinches of weakness (as he once referred to them) that marred his otherwise firm resolve.

Sylar’s continued presence on the periphery of his life (as well as being the inescapable theme interwoven with the crescendo and denouement of every breath) fed Mohinder’s drive forward with purpose and passion. Sylar was the belief system (run amuck) that subconsciously called out the pattern of Mohinder’s steps. Defying Sylar where others painfully succumbed, feeling the fire of the challenge in his veins, was where Mohinder, strangely enough, _found_ his footing.

Maybe that was exactly what Mohinder needed—a foe, an adversary, a tangible counterpoint in human form whom he could measure himself against. At first he _believed_ himself better than Sylar but being blind to one’s own faults was a sinful mistake. Then Mohinder _convinced_ himself he was (still) better than the man who wielded his powers like a battlefield-ready arsenal. But a concerted effort to keep that pillar of his faith true negated what should have been unquestionable. Mohinder’s belief in himself was tested and thrown into disarray, a predicament only halted by his stubborn refusal to grant any excuse for Sylar’s actions.

‘We are not the same,’ Mohinder told himself. ‘We are not two halves of the same coin despite the occasional appearance to the contrary.’ It was a repeated refrain—but that was then. Time changed everything.

Patience and time.

And Peter insisting they work with Sylar for the greater good.

Of all the vocal opposition to such a plan, Mohinder was the most adamant. He forcefully debated on the side of the cons what accepting the arrangement would mean long after others found it in themselves to acquiesce and agree to Peter’s suggestion on that topic.

Watching Sylar move into the inner sanctum that Mohinder had once considered his one safe place recoiled Mohinder’s body back protectively. He played (angry) observer as Sylar smirked and strutted his captivating confidence in all their faces, challenging each of them to try and turn back. Claire, Matt, and Ando rolled their eyes but kept their mouths shut and attention focused. Only Mohinder glared and cast unflinching eyes on his imposing form. Only Mohinder silently denounced Sylar’s ascension in their ranks.

An irritated look his way from Matt made Mohinder feel like a petulant child but he refused to tow the line without constantly reminding them of the cost involved.

‘So full of anger,’ Sylar had said with a ridiculing laugh, but Mohinder heard the real words that formed in the corner of his half smile and dark pupils of unblinking eyes: _Careful Mohinder or I might think you’re overcompensating.   
_  
Sylar was right, of course, the truth no longer a stranger to him. Not that Mohinder cared to be overly analytical about symbolic devices that would undermine his convictions. It was easier to give in to Peter’s insistent plea. He never let up on Mohinder but was careful to not suffocate him into submission. The simple truth, however, was that Mohinder still suffered the guilt of not listening to Peter the first time around all those years before and for Peter, who had not only _not_ carried a grudge but had proven to be a genuine friend through thick and thin (particularly in the face of Nathan’s calculated attempts to put them all under his thumb), Mohinder would eventually choke down his pride.

Inversely proportional to everything else that moved at lightening speed, Mohinder could not say when it was that he and Sylar settled in as partners, so slow was their evolution. Initially they had all worked together like intricate but exchangeable cogs in a machine. One day Mohinder could be heading out with Peter and the next with Claire. Assignments were assignments and avoiding Sylar allowed Mohinder much needed breathing room.

Later, looking back, Mohinder wondered if their lack of one-on-one interactions was a result of Peter’s careful maneuverings to allow him to grow accustomed to Sylar’s newfound position in his life. That wasn’t to say Sylar was no longer a threat to them, but that the situation they all found themselves in necessitated a change in priorities.

Whatever it was Mohinder’s dealings with Sylar, beyond the larger group debriefing sessions, were kept to a minimum. But they did happen. Off hand quips turned into the aggressive brainstorming of creative ideas and sarcastic retorts became shared scoffs at jokes (before Mohinder remembered he should not be laughing with someone like Sylar). Then it was the two of them being sent out more frequently together, surprising everyone (including Mohinder) by how well they worked together.

Mohinder’s explanation, readied on the tip of his tongue in case pushed, was that with Sylar he was not distracted to make small talk, able instead to keep his attention on the job at hand.

There was the other possibility that he wanted to prove to Sylar his strength of mind, to prove that Sylar did not have control over him, if not literally then metaphorically. Mohinder had to be better and work harder to maintain the façade that would keep him clear of the scrutinizing microscope.

And it _was_ a façade.

The irony was not lost on him. Sylar played at the back of his mind and the forefront of his days. When Mohinder gave himself permission to simply exist in the moment without the tiring expectations of belligerent antagonism, without the haunting dead using him as a conduit to demand retribution; that was when trepidation gave way to revelation.

Sylar’s ideas, if not flawless, were profound. Mohinder was drawn to the way his mind worked and how he reconciled need and want with the morality that handcuffed everyone else. As important (perhaps it was worse since it became another thing Mohinder struggled with) Sylar listened to Mohinder’s opinions and drew out discussions from standout points here and there. He heard Mohinder. He _considered_ him.

Mohinder was reminded of a time when Sylar wore a dead man’s name, and the broken, vengeful past that was already on shaky ground cracked its foundations.

It could have all been part of his manipulative act meant to lure Mohinder into false comfort, all the better to rip the carpet out from under him later on. And though the thought had crossed Mohinder’s mind, for the first time he chose to believe in Sylar’s favour. It _was_ different. He did not need an internal lie detector to appreciate the subtle distinctions.

That was as much a beginning as anything else and it came with no bells and whistles indicative of the milestone. Five minute talks became thirty minute exchanges and then two hour conversations. Each one was infused with more personal information than the one before until they felt to be as much a confessional as a series of slightly intimate shares.

It was a (disturbing) change of pace to be at ease with Sylar. Somewhere between the beginning and the middle Mohinder knew his own life would never be called into question by the man. It was never outwardly stated but all of Sylar’s actions (or decided inaction) piled high, told Mohinder his life would not meet an unfortunate end by his hands. It was strange to consider himself safe with the murderer. Once upon a time Mohinder’s vocal defiance towards Sylar was a test of the multi-powered man’s restraint and a reckless death wish on the part of the instigator. That too changed into a mutually appreciated display of respected candor that was not extended to others.

Somehow their words hit the right notes, no matter the topic. The sentiments might be aggressive or thoughtful, frustrated or amused, but they tonally encircled each other in a tight fit of curves and grooves.

More than words there was the linguistic conversation that emanated from their bodies, going from tongue-tied to multilingual fluency. An unbroken look across the room as Matt and Peter argued tactics, accompanied by a raised eyebrow, in turn met by a muffled smile, prefaced their next private chat picking up exactly where the silent dialogue had left off. The playful and subconscious mimicry of arms folded across one’s chest both teased and screamed acceptance. They fell into step (too) comfortably but the mind-numbing toll of maintaining a constant barrage had weakened Mohinder’s resolve too much to return to old ways. It hardly seemed worth it when more came out of staying the course of the new path.

But then those three words froze time and unraveled the twisted threads that had knotted their lives.

They were not spoken in the heat of an argument or during the quiet of an overly sentimental heart-to-heart. They were not prompted beyond the actual act that they entailed. Then again, maybe that was exactly what made it so profound. The earth did not shake, but two lives were completely redefined.

It had been a day like any other. But wasn’t that how it always went?

Mohinder stood in the bathroom doorway of the motel room drying his hands on a towel he was sure was white at one time, and watched Sylar burn to a cindered crisp the file Peter had given them, the information already committed to memory.

“I forgive you.”

They were said with such understated reverence that even Mohinder was caught off guard. Where had that come from? How long had those words lain in wait? Only the milliseconds it took to rush from his brain to his tongue, or longer? Days. Months. Years? Was it only after Sylar, accidentally alongside Peter, had broken Mohinder out of Nathan’s torturous grip? Had it waited dormant from before that, when he should have hated him without exception? Had Chandra retreated fully into murky gray matter taking the battalion of lives brutally cut short and wasted with him?

Did it matter?

The fact that the words even existed between them was the crucial blow. The follow through strike was that Mohinder meant it. No rush of panic rushed blood through his body and spiked his heart. His palms were not clammy, there was no catch in his voice, and there was no nervous tic forcing him to look away.

He spoke with ease, his conscience clear.

Sylar looked up at him, half amused and half confused, with a quick, knee-jerk retort dying on his lips. Mohinder saw the flash of recognition soften his features. Sylar had heard the truth behind each word.

_I forgive you._

Sylar’s shoulders dropped slightly then he pulled himself up straight. It looked like a burden of proportions unknown had been lifted, freeing the person caught beneath. Mohinder had never considered the power he had over Sylar in that matter. It seemed a silly and inept comparison given Sylar’s abilities. Why should Mohinder figure in? Yet here Sylar was, suddenly standing taller than Mohinder had ever seen him, suddenly more _himself_ than ever before.

Mohinder considered how long Sylar had labored under the pretense of indifference. Sylar never felt guilt for his actions, that much Mohinder knew. But the unexpected reveal of regret for his impact on Mohinder’s life, or better yet affection for him in the bestowment of clemency, struck Mohinder speechless.

Forgiveness was as much for the person giving it as it was for the person on the receiving end. Mohinder had confessed for them both. An unforgiving past was a parasite and letting it go was a proclamation against being tethered to stale obligations kept alive by memories weighted in exaggerated emotions with little grip on the changing landscape of reality.

He and Sylar were not the same people they had once been.

Mohinder’s offering and Sylar’s silent appraisal was that confirmation.

_I forgive you. _

_Thank you.   
_


End file.
